Dressed in street clothes, Sister Maggie stepped into the dimness of Julio’s. Jack had said he wanted to meet with her and she felt this Upper West Side bar would be the least likely place she’d be seen by a Lower East Side parishioner.
She spotted Jack waiting at the same table against the wall and rushed over to him.
“It’s true?” she said, clutching the edge of the table in a death grip. “What you said on the phone—they’re gone?”
Jack nodded. “Your worries are over. I wiped out his files.”
Maggie felt her knees weaken. Blood thundered in her ears as she sagged into a chair.
“You’re sure? Absolutely sure?”
“Nothing’s absolute, but I’m as sure as I can be without strapping him to a chair and taping live wires to delicate parts of his anatomy.”
“That’s…that’s wonderful. Not what you just said,” she added quickly. “What you said before.”
Jack laughed. “I gotcha.”
She didn’t know how to ask this, and felt her face turning crimson. Finally she blurted it out.
“Did you happen to see any of the…”
Jack opened his mouth, closed it, then said, “You know, I was going to say yes, and boy were they hot, but I know it’s not a joking matter for you. So the truth: no. He didn’t keep hard copies. Why risk leaving evidence around when he could point and click and get a fresh print anytime he needed it?”
“I’m so glad, so glad.”
Maggie closed her eyes. She had her life back. She wanted to drop to her knees right here on the bar floor and cry out her gratitude to God, but that would attract too much attention.
“But listen,” Jack said, his voice grave. “Here’s why I wanted to meet in person. I want you to realize that even though I’ve wiped out his files, you’re going to hear from him again.”
The wonderful, airy lightness that had suffused her drained away.
“What do you mean?”
“If I did my job right—meaning he thinks this was all a terrible accumulation of accidents—he’ll assume that none of his victims know they’ve been wiped out. Which means they’ll all be thinking they’re still on the hook. You can’t let him know that you know you’re not.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious about this, Sister. And you can’t let your other half know either.”
“Other…?”
“Whoever else was in those pictures with you. Do not tell him.”
“But he’ll be forced to go on paying.”
“That’s his problem. Let him fix it. You fixed yours, so—”
“But—”
“No ‘buts,’ Sister. There’s a saying that three can keep a secret if two are dead.”
“But we two know.”
“No. Only you. I don’t exist. Trust me on this, please. This guy’s an ex dirty cop, so no telling—”
“How did you learn so much about him so soon?”
“Past research from my first encounter with Mr. Slime.”
“I…” She felt a sob build in her throat. “I can’t believe it’s over.”
“It’s not. Not yet. Like I told you, you’ve still got to deal with him, and very carefully. When he calls, tell him you’re tapped out and will send him something as soon as you get it. Plead with him to be patient.”
“But he wants me to…you know…” She lowered her voice. “The building fund…”
“Tell him you’ll try, but it won’t be easy. Because of the kind of neighborhood you’re in, they watch it like hawks, yadda-yadda. But whatever you do, don’t refuse to pay. You’re not going to send him another damn cent, but you can’t let him know that.”
“But I am going to pay you. I promise. Every cent.”
“No need. It’s all taken care of. Financed by a third party.”
Maggie was stunned. First the good news about the blackmail, and now this. But she couldn’t help being a little put off that a third party was involved in this, her most private business.
“But who—?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll never know her and she’ll never know you.”
A sob burst free as tears trickled down her cheeks. What more proof did she need that God had forgiven her?
“Thank you. Thank you so much. If there’s anything I can ever do for you, just say it.”
“Well, there is one thing.” He leaned forward. “How does such an uptight straight arrow like you let herself get involved in a situation that could ruin her life?”
Maggie hesitated, then figured, why not? Jack knew the bad part; he should know the rest of it.
She told him about the four Martinez children and how they were all going to have to leave St. Joseph’s for public school by the end of the year. She explained what a tragedy she thought that would be, especially for naïve little Serafina.
Without mentioning his name she told Jack about approaching Michael Metcalf for help.
“And somehow,” she said, “I found myself in a physical relationship with him. But the Martinez children are the innocent, unwitting victims. The blackmailer drained away the funds that would have gone to them. But don’t worry. I’ll find a way.”
Jack looked as if he was about to say something but changed his mind. He glanced at his watch instead.
“I’ve got someplace I’ve got to be, so…”
Maggie reached across the table and gripped both his hands. “Thank you. You’ve given me back my life and I’m going to do good things with it.” She gave his hands a final squeeze, then rose to her feet. “Good-bye, Jack. And God bless you.”
As she turned and started away she heard him say, “Did you hurt your leg?”
She stiffened. The burns on her thighs ached and stung with each step, but she offered up the pain.
“Why do you ask?”
“You’re limping a little.”
“It’s nothing. It will pass.”
Maggie stepped out into a new day, a new beginning—a redundancy she’d flag in one of her student’s prose, but at this moment it seemed right and true.
Lord, don’t think I’m forgetting my promise just because I’m free of my tormentor. Tomorrow, cross number six. And on Sunday, the seventh and last, just as I promised. And also as promised, I will devote every moment of the rest of my life to Your works and never stray again.
She headed for the subway, for St. Joseph’s Church, to give God thanks in His house.
Life was good again.